CHRISTMAS
The jets’
rush starts this miracle: we fly,
lift-off of
a hundred tons,
so many we
could be a little town,
cradled in
aluminum.
We eat
peanuts in the sky.
We fall
asleep
between the
earth and moon.
We drop at
night like angels
into Minneapolis, that lies
like a
million scattered
candles in
the snow.
from Undercurrents: New Voices in Canadian Poetry
Ed. Robyn
Sarah (Cormorant Books, 2011)
No comments:
Post a Comment